“Not yet.” I looked around – avoiding Marc – then in a low voice said, “The test was negative, but my minder told me the three-month reprieve has been waived.”
Vic didn’t so much as blink when I delivered the news.
“You knew,” I said accusingly.
“Not for sure, but I assumed.” They hefted a big stack ofdirty dishes out of the bin. “And to be honest, I’m okay with it. Get it over with is what I say. Then I can get the hell out of here.”
When Vic headed for the kitchen, I grabbed my own stack and hurried after. “But aren’t you worried about what else they’ll do?”
Vic eyed me. “What else can they do? I’ll have served my time.”
“But they can change anything. I meananything.”
We set our stacks down when we reached the kitchen, and Vic turned to face me. “What are you getting at?”
“What if,” I began in a hushed tone, “the Department of Fertility decides we have to serve longer?”
Vic absorbed this for a few seconds before saying, “You mean have more than one baby.”
“Exactly.”
They shook their head, but it was slow and unsure. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past the Department of Fertility.”
Vic looked unsettled but shook their head again. “No. It’s not possible. I don’t believe it.”
Then, as if wanting to put an end to the conversation, they turned their back on me.
We worked the rest of the shift in silence, which was fine with me since I was no longer thinking about what the Department of Fertility was going to do but instead about what Marc wanted. With the way he was staring at me, I knew it was no coincidence he was here. He’d planned it. Had wanted to see me. But did that mean he’d changed his mind? I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
When we finished cleaning up, Vic hurried from the kitchen without telling me goodbye, but I dragged my feet. I didn’t know why, but I had a feeling Marc was going to seek me out.
I was right, and after everyone else had wandered from the kitchen, he appeared in the doorway, looked me over, and in a quiet voice asked, “Are you okay?”
“As good as can be expected.” I tossed the towel I’d been holding onto the counter.
“Are you…” His gaze moved to my stomach, then back to my face.
“No.” I crossed my arms. “I’m not.”
“But you were crying.”
I exhaled, already tired of being angry but knowing I wouldn’t be able to avoid it. I needed to talk about this with someone who wasn’t in the program, and since Trevor was out of the question, Marc was the next best thing.
“There have been changes in the program,” I began, then, as if I had a severe case of verbal diarrhea, launched into an explanation.
Marc listened attentively, his expression first sympathetic then concerned as I relayed my fears about what the Department of Fertility had in store for me. He didn’t act like he thought the things I was saying were crazy or far-fetched, which was oddly comforting. It was nice to have someone on my side. I was sick of denial. Sick of people pretending the contract we’d signed had any real legal bearing. It didn’t. Not for the Department of Fertility, anyway.
When I was done, Marc swore. “Shit, Ara. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I hugged myself tighter.
He hesitated but only for a second before saying, “And I’m sorry for what happened the last time we were together. It was stupid and reckless, and I shouldn’t have done it.”
Anger flared through me, but for once it wasn’t aimed at anyone associated with the Department of Fertility. It was aimed at him.
“I’m not sorry. Do you know why? Becauseeverypart of my life has been commandeered by the Department of Fertility, and I’m sick of not having anything for myself. And maybe, just maybe, I think you’re worth the risk. No, I take that back.We’reworth the risk, and I want to take it. Why? Because I deserve to have something in my life that’s mine. That’s up tome. Even if it gets me locked up, I won’t regret it. I can’t.”
